Monday, September 14, 2015

It’s time to celebrate! HOUSE OF PAYNE: RUDE is
releasing next week and it’s available for
pre-order! *happy dance*

The Last Thing She Wanted…From the
moment Sass Stone overheard her social worker call her “broken,” she’s been
hell-bent on proving her wrong. A broken woman doesn't have a posse of kickass
friends, a foodie lover’s dream job and a string of pretty boys she enjoys
playing with. Sure, she has scars, but they’re buried so far down no one even
knows they’re there. Certainly her former foster brother, Rudolfo Panuzzi
doesn’t know about them. The man she’d dubbed “Rude” could sniff around all he
wanted, but it wasn’t going to get him anywhere. He’d never get inside—her
pants, or her heart.

…Was The One Thing She NeededA dozen
years and several combat tours in the Marines has a way of maturing a man, and
Rude is no exception. His last mission killed his closest friends and almost
killed him, leaving him with wounds on both body and soul. When he looks in the
mirror, the haunted eyes staring back remind him far too much of his sexy
little foster sister, Sass. That’s when he knows there’s more to her than he
ever imagined… and he’s imagined one hell of a lot.

When Want And Need CollideOne by
one, Rude destroys the defenses that have kept Sass locked inside herself. But
even as she reluctantly allows him to coax her out of her shell, a dark cloud
casts its shadow on their world. Is it something from his past… or hers?109,000
words

***This
is the fourth book in the House Of Payne series, but each book can be read as a
standalone. Not intended for readers under the age of 18 due to adult language
and sexual content***

I’m celebrating RUDE’S pre-order all this week by having a
small giveaway—three $5 Amazon gift cards are up for grabs, from today until
September 20th. Good luck!

Monday, May 25, 2015

Tattooist. Artist. Dreamer.Angel had been a schoolgirl when she came to
House Of Payne, a displaced princess with only a fanciful imagination to her
name. Now the world clamors for her designs, but that means nothing to Goth
tattooist, Twist. Long ago she craved to see admiration in his sexy dark eyes,
but after years of enduring his contempt, she’s given up. Leaving the House
feels like running, but Twist makes it impossible to stay.Tattooist. Artist. Ex-Con.Two words came to Twist’s mind when he first saw
Angel—jail bait. When he'd been
released from prison for a crime he’d commit again in a heartbeat, he'd
nevertheless been determined to keep his nose clean. Too bad he couldn't stop
from thinking about getting into the pants of the House’s fairytale princess.
But with a past like his, he’s no good for Angel. All he can do is watch over
her from afar… whether she likes it or not.When Angel’s injured, Twist appoints himself as
her personal caretaker. She soon discovers that beneath his arrogant façade
lies the heart of a devoted protector. She’s going to need that protection, as
Twist’s past has made an unsettling reappearance.

***

I'm waiting for edits to come in so I can hammer them out. If they're not too awful *crosses fingers* I'll release this Sunday, May 31st. Wish me luck! :D

Friday, October 17, 2014

One
month from today is the release of Coe’s story, WHERE THERE’S A WILL—woohoo! I’m
celebrating with a cover reveal giveaway by offering one $20 Amazon GC, and two $5 Amazon
GCs. Hop along the bloggy trail to read excerpts from WHERE THERE'S A WILL and enter to win!

Monday, October 6, 2014

My first-ever indie cover for HOUSE OF PAYNE: PAYNE
is ready to greet the world!

But first, a first-kiss snippet, from Payne's POV. :) Enjoy!

***

That melancholy
was back with a vengeance, until it was almost painful to see. “What about
you?”

“I told you, I
don’t have any tattoos. I hope you don’t hold that against me.”

“I don’t, and
that’s not what I meant. How’d you wind up with no family? Are you an orphan
like me?”

“No. I’m
invisible.”

The deadened
tone, far more than the words, made him frown. “I don’t get it.”

“Disowned or
estranged might be the correct words when it comes to my family, but invisible
is far more accurate. When you say you’re interested in a 3D portfolio, what
sort of images did you have in mind?”

No Trespassing. Do Not Enter. Violators Will Be Shot,
Gutted and Served on a Stick. She may as well have had a sign hung
around her neck. “I take it you have no interest in butterflies?”

“You already
have those. What don’t you have?”

A rush of
answers flooded in, all of them having to do with her. “I don’t suppose you’d
relax your stance on Missing Piece?”

“That work is
off the table. It was hard enough making it available for private sale. Allowing
it to be worn by everyone and their hamster would diminish what it represents.”

“What does it
represent?”

She was quiet
for so long he thought she wouldn’t answer. Then she pushed her plate away as
well, her waffle half-eaten. “Death. Its agonized and never-healed aftermath. I
have many more 3D pieces on my website. Take a look through what I’ve got
available and let me know if there’s anything that grabs you. I’ll also post
more projects tonight, just to give you an idea of what else I have going on. Oh,
and one last thing,” she added, pushing to her feet and digging out a few bills
to lay on the table, “if you even mention the word audition again, it’ll be the last word you say to me.”

“I have one last
thing as well.” He also slid out of the booth and didn’t suffer a hint of shame
when he towered over her. Dainty women had always brought out the
knuckle-dragging protector in him, but never more so than now. No matter how
much fire and ferocity Becks put on display, he suspected it was only
window-dressing to camouflage the cracks in her armor. “You said you believe in
brunch, remember?”

She blinked.
“Yes, of course. So?”

“I’m guessing
you’re like most creative types—up until the wee hours of the morning while the
sane and the unimaginative are in their boring little beds, getting their boring
little eight hours. That would mean you’re crazy-desperate for coffee by… what?
Noon?”

“Ten, actually,”
came the huffy reply. “Again I ask, so?”

“So… I’m going
to see you tomorrow for brunch.” He cupped the nape of her neck, his thumb
elevating her chin to meet the descent of his mouth. Most farewell kisses were
nothing, really, a shallow gesture that had no meaning behind it. The
modern-day equivalent of a handshake.

Most farewell kisses.

Not this one.

Her lips were
warm velvet and not anywhere near ready for his. He loved that. She’d had no time
to stitch together some bullshit game so often used by women with seduction on
their minds and dollar signs in their eyes. This was just… Becks. A woman he
was attracted to. A woman who corrected him to his face. A woman who forgave
without any drama or guilt trips.

In every
conceivable way, she was his kind of woman.

Her lips parted
with a gasp of surprise. Shamelessly he took advantage, softening his mouth to
mold to hers while pushing her deeper into the kiss until their tongues tangled.
He felt the moment her bewilderment and shock evaporated into dazed
participation, as she slowly melted like wax against him. The long, unbroken
line where their bodies touched dropped the floor out from under his feet, and
the heaviness in his cock intensified into a sweet, pulsating ache. Damn, talk
about escalating quickly. He had to break this up, now, before he got so worked
up he lost it right there. And he could lose it, he realized with a jolt. Somehow
her kiss had gained the power to hold time so still the world itself seemed to
hold its breath at its simple perfection.

Her kiss alone
was almost too much for him to handle.

It took most of
his strength to lift his head, a fact that frankly alarmed him. Her eyes opened,
and he had to lock every muscle in place at the sight of the dreamy desire
glittering in their soulful depths. That was how a woman should look when
kissed by her man, he thought before he could check it. Drunk. Dazed.

Hungry for more.

God knew he was
ready to give it to her. Right there, in a crowded restaurant, he wanted to
give it to her in the worst way.

Then that hungry
look was blinked away a second later, and he was baffled by the chill that
closed around him when she pushed out of his hold.

“I’ve got a lot
of work to get done, so I’d better get going.” Her voice was little more than a
breathless whisper as she grabbed up her purse. “I hope we can do business
together. Email me about your portfolio ideas, and um… have a nice day.”

Friday, October 3, 2014

I’m so excited! For almost the entire month of
October, Carina Press is having a HUGE sale on lots of their PNR titles, and
guess what? NOBODY’S ANGEL is one of them! *happy dance* For just ninety-nine
pennies, you can have the novella that kicked off the idea of creating the 4
major archetypes in the paranormal world—the superhero (NOBODY’S ANGEL), the
warrior (SAVAGE ANGEL, and a woman!!!), lost powers (WOUNDED ANGEL), and the
reluctant hero (DANGEROUS ANGEL).

All four stories have their own story arcs in
addition to a story line that ties them together, and all four books have their
HEA (since I’m not a big fan of cliffhangers, heh).

If that doesn’t intrigue you enough, how about a
sampling of NOBODY’S ANGEL? Here’s the opening chapter for you to enjoy. :)

*****

Chapter One

“I
can’t believe it…”

“There was so much blood.”

“What happened?”

Fragments of conversation hit
Kendall Glynn from all sides, but the words were no more than an irrelevant
buzzing in her brain. She was just as oblivious to the emergency vehicles
scattered outside San Francisco’s top-rated KPOW TV station. Some of her
colleagues were crying, while others spoke to police. The sea of people behind
the yellow crime-scene tape all looked the same—eager spectators hoping for a
glimpse of more blood, more madness.

She’d had enough of both to last
a lifetime.

“Miss? Have you been treated?”

Kendall’s zombielike shuffling
halted at the deep melodic voice close to her, and she turned to discover an
EMT had appeared at her side. For a long moment she stared at him while his
words slipped across the frozen surface of her mind without leaving a mark.

“I’m not hurt.” Her voice came
from far off, unrecognizable and rough around the edges. Which made sense. The
last time she’d used it had been to scream.

And scream.

And scream.

“You might not be hurt, but you
are in shock.” Somehow she was moving again, heading for the back of an empty
ambulance. It wasn’t until he helped her into it that she realized he’d pulled
her along like a lost two-year-old. “I’m going to check you out, okay?”

“This blood, it’s not mine.” Amazing,
how calm she sounded.

“I understand.” After settling
her on the side of a gurney, the paramedic lifted her chin with a gloved hand
and flashed a penlight across her eyes. “You’ve got lovely eyes, just like
emeralds. Do you have a name?”

“I’m not hurt.” He had to
understand she wasn’t the one who needed his attention. “The others, Dave
Beamer and Jane Walters, they’re the ones who...” Oh, God.

“They’re being taken care of.” A
blood-pressure cuff slipped over her arm. Began to squeeze. “You were close to
them when it went down, right? Can you tell me what happened?”

“I don’t know.” Confused, she
shook her head. “One second Dave was doing his job—smiling into the camera and
reading the copy I wrote about a couple of murder-suicides. It was my first
lead story.”

“Congratulations.”

“Maybe he didn’t like how I wrote
it.” She couldn’t seem to stop shaking her head. “The next thing I knew, Dave
was choking our anchorwoman so hard I thought he’d snapped her neck, before he
took his pen and…”

“Easy.” Zeke moved to sit beside
her and pushed her head between her knees. “You’re not allowed to go that
white, Kendall. Makes me think you’re going to faint.”

“I don’t know what happened,” she
said again, closing her eyes and willing the queasiness to pass. “Everyone was
screaming. It wasn’t until I got close to Dave that I realized he was yelling
the loudest. It’s like he was possessed, jamming his pen into his own neck
while he screamed for someone to stop him. I jumped on top of him, but…” She
gulped in air until the ringing in her ears went away. “I think he’s dead. I
think Dave is dead.” She trembled on the verge of admitting she’d seen the
essence of Dave’s life drain away, just as she’d witnessed her grandfather’s
life essence drift from his body in the hospital when she was a child. She’d
told her mother about it, and had been reprimanded for letting her imagination
run away with her like crazy Aunt Maggie, a woman who read palms and talked to
spirits for a living. But deep down Kendall had always suspected what she’d
seen that day was real, and Aunt Maggie probably wasn’t as crazy as her family claimed.

After tonight, though, she
couldn’t help but think she might not be standing as securely on the stable
ground of sanity as she’d once believed.

“I’m sorry to say you’re right.” The
EMT’s deep voice brought her back with a jolt. “Dave Beamer didn’t make it. Jane,
though, is still alive. That’s something.”

Kendall let out a shuddering
breath as the nausea passed. “I’m fine now.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” But
he let her straighten up, his hand on her back. It felt sturdy and warm, but if
this was what it took to get a hot guy to sit next to her, she was all in favor
of eternal spinsterhood.

Lord. How awful she must be,
thinking that at a time like this.

“Your color sucks.” With that
professional assessment, he reached into a duffel bag and fished out a flask. “Let’s
try some non-regulation emergency medicine packed just for such an occasion. Do
you have any allergies to seventy-five-year-old brandy?”

“I have no idea.”

“No time like the present to find
out.” With that, he tipped the flask into her mouth. Fiery liquid scalded her
throat, but the sting brought the world back into sharp focus. “Better?”

“Maybe.” She gasped after downing
what felt like half the flask. That had to be what it felt like to chug jet
fuel. “I think I can now breathe fire.”

“Sounds like a cool super power
to have.”

Kendall half-laughed, then was
shocked she was capable of such a thing. “Did they teach you that technique in
EMT school?”

“Nah, Boy Scouts. Always be
prepared.”

Kendall trembled on the verge of
laughing again and glanced at the man seated beside her. She must be in some
serious kind of shock, was all she could think. That was the only way she could
explain overlooking a square-jawed, raven-haired behemoth of a man with the
most mesmerizing golden-brown eyes she’d ever seen. His chin was shadowed with
a cleft at the point, and the arch of his brows had an elegant curve that made
her fingers itch to trace them. She almost lifted a hand to follow through with
the urge, and had to look away to stop herself from getting touchy-feely with a
complete stranger.

“Your color’s coming back.” To
her surprise he indulged in some face-touching of his own, laying the back of
his gloved hand against her cheek. “Nice and warm. Brandy does have its
medicinal merits, doesn’t it?”

“I think I’m going to make it.”

“I never had a doubt.” Tucking
the flask back in the duffel bag, he pulled out a packet of wet wipes. “Once
you get some of that blood off you, you’ll feel even better. May I?”

“Oh. Uh, I can do it—”

“Yeah, but I can see it.” Clearly
not a man who took no for an answer, he began to massage her face with the cold
wipe. “No one else is as covered as you, did you know that?”

“I’m not sure I want to know
that.”

“Seems to me you were the only
one who dived into the fray.”

“Oh?” Kendall frowned, oddly
distracted by his touch. “Does that make me weird?”

“Depends. Were you and Dave
Beamer close?”

“I’m not close to anyone here,
yet. I’m a transfer from a small-market radio station in Half Moon Bay.” She
leaned into his hand without thinking, almost nuzzling him. “I’ve only been at
KPOW for three months, working as a researcher and assistant editor.”

“So you didn’t know him?”

“I didn’t say that. Dave was the
first real friend I’ve made here, and he was the one who gave me a shot at the
lead story tonight. He wasn’t threatened by me, my ambitions are in
investigative journalism rather than anchoring. We hit it off right away, so
much so that I’m comfortable in saying that wasn’t Dave tonight. It just wasn’t
him.”

“Did he look different?”

“Since he’s never stabbed a ballpoint
pen into his jugular before, I’d have to say yes.” Fearful she might puke at
any moment, Kendall focused on his soothing ministrations. “There was a light
in his eyes.”

“A light?”

“Light isn’t the right word. More
like a veil. Like cataracts.” This man had some serious magic in his hands. In
an alternate universe—a universe where he wasn’t wiping a dead man’s blood off
her face—she would have done just about anything to keep him touching her.

“What color was it?”

Her closing eyes snapped open. “What?”

“That veil must have had some
color. White or red, perhaps.” He continued to wipe at her cheeks, before
sliding down to her neck. “Maybe you didn’t see anything.”

“It was white.” She arched her
neck as luxurious warmth spilled from where his gloved hand lingered over her
pulse point. “Milky white. Guess that sounds kind of crazy, huh?”

“Witnessing death puts a
tremendous amount of pressure on people—violent death even more so. Who knows
what really went down tonight? There we go.” He balled up the wipe and tossed
it before he crooked a finger under her chin. “Feel better?”

“Um.” His heavy-lidded eyes were
soulful, looking into hers as if she were all he could see, and her nerves beneath
his fingers tingled as though from a lover’s caress. How appalling. A colleague
killed himself right in front of her, and here she was getting overheated by a
calendar-worthy first responder. “Yes, thanks. I should be able to drive home
now,” she added, nodding toward her car not too far from where the ambulance was
parked.

“Yeah. No.” He moved to hop out
of the back before offering her a hand. “You’re getting a ride home.”

“Oh, please don’t bother—”

“If you don’t agree, I’ll follow
you in the ambulance, lights on and siren blaring. At least then everyone would
know to stay away from a potential hazard on the road.”

Something in his eyes convinced
Kendall he wasn’t kidding. In the end, she followed along in his wake when
docility wasn’t part of her nature. Her brain spun its wheels in an effort to
think of a way to keep him by her side a few minutes longer, the need to simply
be with him inexplicably powerful. But all she could do was thank him when he
handed her off to a police officer, who did some hot and heavy ogling of her
own when he walked away.

“With paramedics like that, I’d
be willing to suffer a little emergency every now and again,” the woman
muttered, eyes trained on Zeke’s firm backside.

Despite being in wholehearted
agreement with her, Kendall gave her a sharp look. “I’d say one dead anchorman
qualifies as more than a little emergency.”

The other woman arched her brows.
“Both victims were breathing, last I heard.”

As the affronted cop led her to a
patrol car, Kendall frowned. Obviously her shock-benumbed brain conjured up the
impossible image of Dave’s spirit drifting vaporlike from his body; that made
total sense. But why had Zeke sounded so sure Dave Beamer was dead? As they
drove off, she searched the triage area for the paramedic with soulful eyes and
gentle hands, and suffered an almost mournful pang when he was nowhere to be
found.

“…the date for memorial services
for David Beamer, San Francisco’s favorite news anchor, has yet to be
determined, as the police investigation into this incident is ongoing. . . Co-anchor
Jane Walters was taken to St. Francis Hospital—”

“Excuse me, would you mind
turning that down, please?” Kendall met the cabbie’s eyes in the rearview
mirror. “I’m sorry, I have a terrible headache.”

The volume decreased to where
Kendall could block out the words, but she wasn’t nearly as successful at
blocking out the memories. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the gruesome
scene flashing before her. The screaming, the blood, the madness.

If it were possible, she’d never
close her eyes again.

That, of course, made for a
sleepless night. With nothing better to do, she decided to pick up her car left
at the station. Who cared that it was two in the morning? If she was going to
go for the sans-sleeping way of life, nocturnal errand running was something
she might as well get used to.

At least the rubberneckers had
left, Kendall noticed as she paid the cabbie and made her way to her trusty hybrid
still in KPOW’s parking lot. It was a mystery why they’d shown up in the first
place. The horror show they’d wanted to see had already played itself out on
live television. Heaven only knew what else they’d been expecting to happen.

The hell of it was, none of it
made sense. Kendall’s mouth flattened as she found herself turning her car
toward St. Francis instead of home. Dave’s behavior hadn’t given any hint that
he was about to go postal in front of a half-million shocked viewers. He’d been
fine, reading her copy, and she’d been listening to every word. Her
words, her story that she’d dug up a mere hour before they’d gone on air, with a
gut feeling that this was an important story churning away inside her. Everything
had been going beautifully, with Dave reading about the two murder-suicides
like the professional he was. Then, in a blink of an eye, he began screaming as
he turned into Freddy Krueger.

Not exactly how she’d imagined
launching her first lead story.

There was a veritable forest of
satellite antennas stabbing up from a fleet of news trucks around St. Francis
Hospital, including a couple from her own station. Eager to avoid anyone she
knew, Kendall drove to the back and parked beside an empty ambulance bay, only
to freeze at the sound of a voice just as she shut the car door.

“You can’t park here.”

Guiltily she started and looked
around. Under a porte-cochère and
illuminated by harsh sodium lights, she spotted a gray-haired, scrub-clad man
leaning against a wall by the automatic sliding glass doors. Clearly on a
cigarette break, he looked at her as though she were something that had crawled
out of a sewer.

She waved a vague hand toward the
front. “I’m trying to avoid the news crews. Is there somewhere I can get in
without being seen?”

“Why? You famous?”

“No, I…” She shrugged a little
helplessly. “I write copy for KPOW TV News. I was the one who tackled Dave
Beamer.”

“Oh yeah. Thought you looked
familiar. Your wrestling match with that anchor guy is all over TV.” The man
flicked his cigarette away and wandered toward her, a bluish-white haze of
smoke swirling around him. “You here to get a scoop, or are you injured from
tackling a crazy-ass guy twice your size?”

“Neither.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

Good question. “I want to
know why my friend is dead. Whether it was a dose of bad drugs, or a brain aneurysm,
or a hitherto-unknown funky allergic reaction to shellfish, I want to know why.
Whatever the answer is, I’m not going to be able to rest until I find it.”

“The only answer I can give you
is that you’re not allowed to park here. We’ve got emergency vehicles coming in
and out of…” The man stopped and craned his neck far to the left, as if he had
a bad crick in it.

She frowned. “Are you okay?”

There was no warning. A muffled
grunt escaped him as he lunged at her, hands outstretched. And his eyes…

His eyes were white.

A scream ripped from her
already-abused throat, only to be abruptly choked off as his powerful fingers
closed around her neck like a living vise.

This can’t be happening, this
can’t be—

Her sneakered feet left the
concrete with the force of the impact. If her airway had been open, the breath
would have been knocked out of her as she landed flat on her back, with the man
landing hard on top of her. The back of her head smacked the pavement hard
enough for her to see stars shoot across a darkening expanse. By the time her
vision cleared, her assailant was looking down at her with a contorted face,
his eyes milky white.

Oh no…

Wildly Kendall clawed at the
fingers squeezing her neck so hard she felt bone grind against bone. An
alarming buzz droned in her ears, while her eyes pulsed with the pressure of
trapped blood, until that throbbing was all she knew and everything else faded…

Another violent impact rocked
her, and it took her a few dazed moments to grasp that she wasn’t the one who
had suffered the hit. Gagging, wheezing, not sure if her throat could even
function after being so viciously abused, she sucked in precious gulps of air
until the world came back into focus. She rolled to a wobbling sitting
position, driven by the instinctive need to find her feet and run. But
what she saw made her freeze in dumbstruck amazement.

The figure looming over her
attacker was shrouded in black. It was as though the harsh artificial light
itself couldn’t penetrate the darkness surrounding the masculine outline
dressed in what looked like a long fitted coat straight out of The Matrix.
His head was also covered in darkness, complete with a black, Zorro-like cloth
that covered not just his head, but the upper half of his face as well.

A mask?

The sight of a masked man was
certainly more than enough to stop anyone dead in their tracks, but then the
seemingly empty black sockets behind the mask’s eyeholes shimmered. Then they glowed.
Then they burned with the ethereal whiteness of pure light, and his hands…

His hands were on fire.

Only it wasn’t like any fire
she’d ever seen. It was a rolling, vaporous flame that matched the white flare of
his eyes. The sight of it, along with his whitely lit eye sockets, was enough
to lock the breath up in her abused throat.

Dear God, I’ve lost my mind.

Her attacker swiveled his head
around so hard Kendall heard the man’s neck pop before he swung at the man in
black, and she had to blink at how his movements smudged together. The newcomer
jumped back, only to unleash a crescent kick the moment he landed, and again
her eyes couldn’t quite see the movement in the stark sodium lighting.

No. Wait.

It wasn’t the lighting. And it
wasn’t the whack she took on the head, or being choked half to death. Though
she knew it was impossible—like everything else she’d seen tonight—the
movements of the two combatants were so fast they were blurring before
her eyes.

The kick tagged her attacker, who
spun with it and took a swipe at her savior’s middle even as an ominous snap of
something in the hospital worker’s body rang out. With one of those
too-fast-to-see-it moves, her savior evaded, spinning low and into her
attacker’s body. Before she could fully register the move, he brought one of
his glowing hands up to the aggressor’s chest, while the light where his eyes
should be intensified until it was like looking into the sun.

“You’ve done enough damage for
one night.” The masked man’s voice rolled forth like a cold wind across a
barren plain; harsh, unforgiving. Inhuman. So terribly inhuman it made her want
to curl up in a tight ball and never come out again. “I’m ripping you out of
there once and for all, you unclean bitch.”

Before her disbelieving eyes, the
vaporous white flame encasing his hand flowed into the man’s chest. The attacker’s
white eyes bulged as though overfilled with the flame, his mouth opening on a
soundless scream before he collapsed as if someone had suddenly pulled his
power cord. A blue-white haze—the same haze she’d thought was a cloud of
smoke—erupted from him and zipped off into the night.

Friday, August 22, 2014

I’m freaking out in all the good ways, can you tell? :D My
first foray into self-pubbing is now officially live on Amazon! *happy dance*

HOUSE OF PAYNE
is one-third of the INKED Anthology, the first of the HOUSE OF PAYNE trilogy,
and one of the hottest books I’ve ever written. *fans self* This was a pleasure
to write, and I’m hoping it’ll be just as much a pleasure to read!

Sebastian Payne is the power behind House Of Payne—a
self-made millionaire, international celebrity and a leading force in the world
of tattoos. Payne could have any woman in the world, but he’s got eyes only for
3D artist Becks Delgado, and he’ll do anything to get her. When he takes her
out for a little private dining at an exclusive restaurant I fashioned after
The Metropolitan Club in the Willis (Sears) Tower in Chicago, he introduces his
lady-love to his version of fine dining…

EXCERPT:

“The Metro Club.” Becks’s eyes were
everywhere as they walked through the brass-accented paneled dining area lit by
crystal chandeliers. Breathtaking views of the night-shrouded Chicago skyline
glittered beyond the wall-to-wall windows, the city’s lights glowing like a
giant’s treasure trove below their perch on the sixty-seventh floor. “I never
realized this place was here.”

“The anarchist in me hates the
concept of clubs. Too elitist and
usually filled with people who have no concept of what it is to really work for
a living. But I discovered you have to go where business gets done, so I joined
up when the House hit the big leagues. And being a member here does have
certain perks that come with it.” Through a set of mahogany double doors, they
entered a candlelit room no bigger than a large dining room found in any house,
with framed black-and-white photos of Chicago monuments on its mellow golden
walls. Their hostess seated them next to each other on a tufted leather
banquette at a linen-swathed table facing windows that framed views of Millennium
Park. Their hostess waited as a sommelier filled fluted glasses with champagne,
then closed the doors as they exited. “Perks like private dining, for instance.”

“Are you kidding me?” Payne watched
her eyes grow to the size of saucers. She got halfway out of her seat to look
around while the faint melody of piano music filtered in from the front of the
restaurant. “Holy crap, this is the only table in the room.” She fell back into
her seat and made a chagrined face. “And I just said holy crap out loud, which proves I don’t belong in a setting as
refined as this. Are you sure you don’t want to just grab a quick bite at
McDonald’s?”

“Sounds great, but since we’re here
now we might as well take advantage.” He edged closer to her until their thighs
touched. The simple physical contact sang through him like a miracle. “I’m sure
the chef could make you his version of a Big Mac if you asked.”

“I wouldn’t dare. That dude’s got
access to sharp knives.” By degrees her smile faded, and she fiddled with the
napkin on her lap. “You know you don’t have to wine and dine me, right?”

“And you know that I like to do
things up right.” Payne caught that fidgeting hand in his even as the doors
opened behind them. He brought her fingers to his lips as the starters he’d
ordered—prime rib Carpaccio in truffle oil and prosciutto-wrapped grilled
asparagus—were served. “I get such a kick out of surprising you that I want to
do it all the time, so you might as well get used to it. I’ve only just begun
to spoil you.”

“Spoiling isn’t necessary. You care
that I exist.” Her voice was so low he almost missed it as they were left alone
once more and he transferred little delicacies to their awaiting plates. “That’s
more than enough. That’s everything.”

“Becks.” Payne struggled with the
enormity of the emotions she spawned. With just a handful of words, she moved
him to the point of speechlessness while at the same time she brought out every
protective instinct he possessed. When she looked at him as if she couldn’t keep
her eyes off him, everything that was masculine in his DNA demanded he lock her
against him and never let go. “When you say things like that, it makes me want
to give you the world.”

“Meh. I don’t want the world. It’s
too messed up.”

“Tell me what you do want, and I’ll
get it for you.” Whatever it was, he’d find a way.

Need slammed him, a crazed
desperation that ripped through his system like a runaway train. Savoring the
sensation, he reached over for a morsel of food and held it to her lips. “If
you’re very good, you’ll get what you want. But I want something in return.”

She took the bite into her mouth and
sucked the truffle oil from his finger. The feel of her kitten-soft, velvet
tongue against the pad of his finger taunted him without mercy. All too easily
he could imagine that sweet little tongue sliding up the length of his dick so
clearly, it was as though she’d actually done it.

Oh, God…

“You want something from me?” The
smile that curled her usually solemn mouth was knowing. Sexy. Destined to snap
his will like dry kindling. “Are we bargaining now?”

“Always.”

“What is it that you want?”

“Your panties. Take them off.”

Static-filled silence exploded
between them for a heartbeat, and in that moment he could have sworn he heard
her heartbeat. Then, with her eyes never leaving his, she slid out of the
banquette and bunched up the folds of her long skirt. The teasing glimpses he
got of her legs—pale, slender columns that needed to be wrapped around him—were
enough to make his stiffening flesh swell to the point that his briefs felt like
they’d grown small enough to cut off all circulation. With a grimace of near
pain, he shifted in his seat while drinking in the faint shimmy of her hips.
God, she was beautiful. The world could have been ending beyond the windows in
front of him, and he still wouldn’t have been able to look away as she glided
her hands up her thighs before they disappeared under her skirt.

“I wish I’d known this was going to
be in my immediate future.” The sound of her voice hit all his happy-buttons. Soft
and sultry, it was a purr that was as sensually stimulating as a tangible
caress. “I would have worn my royal
purple French lace thong. Instead, you get… these.”

A hint of red dropped to the floor. With
uncomplicated grace she stepped out of them and scooped them up. When she
folded them design side up and handed them over, the edgy hunger that stalked
him lightened with a flash of irresistible humor.

“Wonder Woman?”

“Don’t knock the Amazon princess.”
Laughter danced in her eyes along with a lush excitement she couldn’t seem to
hide, and it had him biting his lip to keep from groaning. This woman getting
hot for him was almost too arousing to bear. “That chick rocked. She was my
role model as a kid.”

“A woman who appreciates comic
books. How did I ever get so lucky?” As she slid back into her seat, she lifted
her skirt out of the way, and he caught a hand above her knee before it could
once again be covered. Her skin was a living fantasy of crushed silk and rose
petals and all things that belonged in heaven. Soon he’d find out if she was
that soft everywhere. “Though I have to admit, I always preferred Marvel to
DC.”

“Are you crazy? Superman and Batman
and their multi-layered back stories were better than The X-Men or Spiderman any
day of the week.”

“Hey, now. Those are fighting words
right there.” It was insane how delighted he was with her, this nerd-girl in
disguise. With his hand sliding up her thigh, he gently bit at her neck and
wondered what she’d make of the small images of Venom and Spidey fighting it
out within the cityscape tattoo he had across the small of his back. “I think
you need to be punished for that.”

“Ooh. Scary man.” Her breathing was
audible as she angled her body toward him for easier access. “Do your worst.”

The invitation nearly broke him.

Before another move could be made,
the doors behind them opened again. Dirty plates were whisked away to make way
for entrees of duck breast with cherry compote and skewers of flame-roasted
vegetables. Payne barely saw any of it, glancing up only to inform their server
that privacy was what they wanted now. When they were alone once more, the
thought of sedately eating a meal with her wearing nothing under her skirt was
the one sure way he’d lose his goddamn mind.

“Becks.” No matter how delicious the
aroma was from the dinner they’d been served, all he could smell was her scent.
Lust burned in him, all-consuming. It was a fever, and she was his only cure.
“Tell me if you’re hungry, and I’ll try like hell to keep my hands off you. But
if you’re not…”

“No.” Her breath trembled as she
propped a knee on the seat and slipped a hand to his shoulder for balance. “I’m
not hungry… for food.”

“Excellent. Because the only thing I
want to eat right now is you.” With that, he cleared the space on the table in
front of him so he could set her ass down on it.

Now
this was his idea of fine dining.

******

Sound interesting? Find HOUSE OF
PAYNE in the INKED anthology, along with Jade C. Jamison’s PUNCTURED, BRUISED,
AND BARELY TATTOOED, and J.M. Walker’s
SHATTERED STRINGS. All proceeds go to charity!

Blurb for HOUSE OF PAYNE:

Life is supposedly
what you make of it, but that’s crap as far as 3D artist Becks Delgado is
concerned. She never wanted her brother to die in a car accident… or to be the
one who was behind the wheel. Her external scars are nothing compared to the
raw wounds inside, and death seems to be the only way to find peace.

Sebestian Payne took the concept of a tattoo parlor and transformed it into a
sophisticated gallery of living art. The House Of Payne now caters to the rich
and infamous, has garnered a worldwide following, and is run by Sebastian with
an iron fist. He knows Becks is exactly what The House Of Payne needs, but
there’s a problem. The accident that changed her life left its mark on him as
well, and whether he likes it or not, it’s time to put his House in order.

Latest Release: HOUSE OF PAYNE: RUDE, out September 21, 2015

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Books by Stacy Gail

About Me

Hi! I'm known to spontaneously burst into song, and my laugh is way too loud to be legal. I also write romances. Buy one, please. I need to feed my Starbucks habit.
Got a comment? Question? Psychic reading? I want to hear about it! Email: stacygail1@gmail.com